Black as the Devil, Sweet as Love
by paradiso
Summary: Stella/Mac/Peyton triangle. Just when Stella was sure that she was sworn off Irish Coffee forever...


**Black as the Devil, Sweet as Love**

Stella smiles to herself one morning as she walks down the hallway to her desk, a faint memory from the night before tugging at her lips.

--

"_Hey Stella,"_ _Sheldon waggles his eyebrows uncharacteristically after he catches his bosses embracing in Mac's office, "You and Mac, huh?"_

"_Shut up," but secretly she smiles._

_-- _

The fumes from the coffee she's holding encircle her senses, puffing up into her face warmly as to seek her approval. It does, she decides with the nod of her head and takes a sip from one of the cups. Of course, it's no Irish cream because she wants to save that for tonight (Mac promised her they'd grab one tonight). So she picks butter pecan for herself on this Monday morning and it tastes like excitement, El Toucan for Mac because he's not so big on flavor and cares more for a nice, full-bodied, medium dark.

She's already finished her rounds for the morning. French Vanilla for Danny and Lindsay - typical, Stella thinks, since they're halfway in love after all. Then Espresso Forte for Hawkes, since he's been up all night haunting the morgue (she grabs a blueberry muffin for him too). Then lastly – and she's ashamed because this one gesture was an afterthought – she grabs an Earl Grey for Sid Hammerback and then laughs at that because he's the only one who's ever awake enough for a tea first thing in the morning. And not just because he could do an autopsy in his sleep if he was really that tired.

They're all happy to see her, and they smile and laugh when she hands them their drink. Even Danny and Lindsay, who've been too busy smiling and laughing at each other for the past little while to even notice that she exists (or that they're at _work_, as a matter of fact). They all drop what they're doing to greet her, with a hug or a wave or a flirty "Well this day just got a _heck_ of a lot better. Wanna hang around for awhile? We can process that hunk of skin over there, it'll be so special." compliments of Mr. Hammerback of course.

"You know I'd love to Sid, any day, but I don't wouldn't want to steal your thunder," Stella had laughed as she handed him his tea.

She continues down the hallway, smiling to herself because there's just two cups left in her hands and one of them belongs to her. The El Toucan sends tingles down her hand as she nears his office, the anticipation in her driving her mad. She's just about to turn the corner and waltz demandingly into his little space when suddenly...

Footsteps. Rapid footsteps. Jogging, running, sprinting.

Mac.

Stella is terrified by the look on his face when she turns to see him. But he's gone faster than her fingers slip from the Styrofoam in her hands and he even then he hasn't noticed her presence. She stares down at the El Toucan and muses to herself quietly that the butter pecan is still safe in her left hand. A quiet custodian kneels down to mop of the mess but Stella doesn't want her to, so she motions for her to go do something else. The woman is bewildered, but shrugs because she doesn't speak much English , and she doesn't want to get into trouble.

Stella kneels down, picks up the washcloth that the custodian left behind and begins to scrub the floor sloppily just so she can feel the hot liquid flow between her fingers, burning her slightly because she moved very quickly this morning so that it would stay warm.

Mac had been moving faster.

In the hallway behind Mac's office, Sid Hammerback walks by, his tea still in one hand, and he watches carefully through two glass walls as Stella's hands sweep up and down the floor reminding her of the chores she did as a child at the orphanage. Suddenly, Sid wants to help her, but he thinks better of it and just watches for the next five minutes. Then the coffee is gone, and all that's left is Stella on the floor, her own cup of java forgotten.

He shakes his head and walks away, deciding that it would do him no good for his heart to break first thing in the morning seeing Stella and her shattered excitement on the floor. He goes on, pretending that he hadn't been headed her way to tell her of all that had transpired in between the time she had last seen him and now. Peyton and the truck connecting angrily with her head. Mac getting the call as he stood in the autopsy room. There's no way for Stella to know, Sid tells himself, she'll find out later and she won't feel so bad about the coffee and the way that Mac ran past her, unseeingly, completely oblivious to her presence.

Sid tells himself, tries to fool himself. Stella isn't selfish, he thinks, but she's only human.

But he tosses the remainder of his tea into the garbage as soon as he reaches his destination. It had turned incredibly sour.

--

"Oh my gosh, Peyton, that's horrible!" Lindsay cries as she envelops the other woman into a hug.

From her place on the couch, Stella watches and frowns. The _other_ woman.

"He was, in such an incredibly hurry, it all happened so fast..." said Peyton, the wound on her forehead doing nothing to take away from her pearly smile and dazzling eyes.

Lindsay pats her on the shoulder, and they speak softly after that to conceal the contents of their discussion. But every now and then Lindsay giggles the same way she does when Danny so much as _looks_ at her. As for Peyton, she's blushing prettily and looking down at the floor as she speaks to Lindsay.

_Jeez_, thinks Stella as she tries to become absorbed in the cup of crappy instant from the machine in the lounge, _I didn't know they were so close_.

But the thought is only meant to further distract her. A backup for when the (alleged) coffee fails to do so. She tries to feel bad about not taking enough time to speak to Lindsay recently, not calling her up just to listen to her gush about some guy that she won't name for fear of Stella chastising her for getting involved with a co-worker (as if Stella hadn't already deduced as much on her own). She wants to feel jealous that Peyton just showed up out of no where, and now she and Lindsay are BFFs or something.

Stella flings the coffee into the sink angrily and leaves the lounge and she's so upset (at herself of course) that she doesn't notice the concerned look on Lindsay's face as she does so. It's quick, it only lasts a second before she shrugs and decides to give Stella her space, before turning back to Peyton to listen to all the juicy details about what an after-hours Mac is like.

Stella thinks that Lindsay has forgotten. She is mistaken. Lindsay thinks to herself that she'll make that clear later on, and ask her boss out for a few drinks, maybe even a coffee tomorrow morning. But the moment is gone once Stella leaves the room.

Peyton asks, "Want to go grab a coffee?"

--

Friday night is the Celeste Carmichael Charity Gala, and Stella sighs to herself when she realizes that it's her turn to go, to be the representative of the lab. Much to her relief, Sheldon offers to accompany her and help her bear the pressure put on by being surrounded by all those critical people, ready and willing like Sid with a scalpel over a dead vic, to pick her apart and stare at the bits and pieces of her under a microscope.

She goes through her closet two hours prior to the time that Sheldon has said he'll pick her up at. Her closet is dominated primarily by little back cocktail dresses, and she's momentarily disgusted with herself because she knows why she has such an astounding collection. They were meant for all those lonely evenings, when she just needed _someone_ and it didn't matter who. Then that night in Mac's office, when he had run his eyes over hers slowly as though he was going to say something profound and surprising and delightful, but held back on account of the stunning woman in front of him. That memory made her cringe because she remembered not feeling so bad for once about Mac leaving the office that night to meet some _other_ woman (a blonde, she remembered him telling her later on) because she had had someone to see that night too. That someone hadn't turned out the way she'd thought, and afterwards, she'd sworn she'd never wear a cocktail outfit again. Or a flimsy, sundress, for that matter.

She tries not to look around her apartment, the same apartment that had been in a state of bloody disarray just a few months ago, and at the same time, she tries not to cry.

In the end it's an elegant red gown that hugs her frame perfectly, sets off fiery glow in her eyes and nearly knocks Sheldon dead when he first sees her that evening.

"You look amazing," he says truthfully, and holds open the cab door.

"You cleaned up pretty well yourself too," she avoids adding his name at the end of the sentence, because that makes it easier for her to relate to the time that she said the same thing, in the same situation, to Mac Taylor.

They drive in silence, and Stella is so lost in a pair of blue eyes that burn relentlessly in her mind that she doesn't notice Sheldon's fascinated stare. He doesn't mind so much, since its when her thoughts are running rampant and her emotions are right behind her eyes that she is most human. It's that state in which Sheldon prefers to study her – something he tries not to do often, but he can't resist when she suddenly smiles wistfully out the window.

It occurs to him that on this night of nights, when she's here in the cab, when she's supposed to be preparing herself for what kind of accusations (there's always accusations) may come at the event, she can think only of Detective Taylor. But Sheldon isn't jealous, he isn't really the jealous type, and though he has an abundance of affection and caring for Stella, he muses that its because she's has a constant maternal strength that makes him feel safe and at home in her company.

"Hey," Sheldon says quietly when the reach a red light and the taxi slows, "It's not too late to turn around and go home. I can handle it, if you like."

Stella thinks that she should be annoyed by his offer, and feel offended by his assumption that this is just too much for _her_ to handle on the very day that Mac Taylor ran past her at nine in the morning. But she isn't annoyed, and Sheldon is relieved because the last thing he wants is to upset her when she's sitting there next to him looking so fragile in the moonlight.

"It's okay Sheldon," she says quietly, even though it isn't.

When they arrive, he holds the door open for her again, and then pays the taxi himself (Stella protests, but he doesn't listen) and then their off on their way. As they head forwards into the hall, there's people that stop and say hello to her, and then nod politely at Sheldon. Halfway up the stairs to the main floor, Stella freezes and Hawkes' look back at her, confused.

She looks away, suddenly eager to go back down the stairs, so Sheldon looks up to see what has her so rattled. It's a man that he doesn't recognize, but feels an immediate dislike for. He's a scumbag dressed in a suit, Sheldon can already tell by the way he's looking at Stella like he's going to _eat_ her. He brushes the greasy blond hair out of his eyes and heads their way.

Sheldon is about to turn around and escort Stella back downstairs, but she's already turned around by then, and has her arm linked with his.

"Uh..." Hawkes mutters and Stella laughs a little because he sounds so intelligent, even when he doesn't know what to say.

"Ms. Bonasera," says the scumbag when he's reached them.

Hawkes is angered by his tone and glares immediately, "Detective Bonasera."

"Of course," the scumbag is surprised by Hawkes' assertive speech, having taken him for just some flimsy piece of arm-candy who just lucked out getting to escort Stella to the gala.

Stella gives him a curt nod, and she and Hawkes continue onward. After that one confrontation (she doesn't care to explain it to Sheldon because she's mildly embarrassed) Stella feels a little more invincible and ready to take whatever the night throws at her.

She stumbles when she looks up and realizes that she's dead wrong. Again.

--

"Stella! Over here!" Peyton, of course, glued to Mac, who looks surprisingly a little strained.

"Lovely," says Stella under her breath, so quiet that even Sheldon who is frozen and unsure of what to do , can't hear her at all.

"Stella?" he looks to her trying to ask her what he should do and notices that in her perfect stilettos, she's just a little bit taller than him.

"Okay," she says shakily after a pause, "Let's go."

Sheldon lets go of her arm because he feels like she doesn't want anyone to be touching her anymore and is too nice to say anything.

"Oh good, I thought you didn't hear me," Peyton gushes once they reach her and Mac on the other side of the room, "It's great that you're here though. You both look smashing!"

_Smashing?_, Stella wants to roll her eyes but holds back because Mac has opened his mouth and is trying to formulate a sentence.

"Peyton... this is her first time at a gala and..."

"An American gala Mac. We have galas in London too you know," Peyton laughs.

She's dressed in a long, glittering emerald green gown that dips as low as her breastbone, her long dark hair cascades down her back like an ebony waterfall.

Stella wants to die.

Peyton is beautiful.

"You _have_ to come sit with us," she says like a schoolgirl at prom, "I can't get over how great it is that you came."

_Mac didn't tell you I'd be here?_ Stella thinks to herself, _He's the one who made sure I remembered._

The whole night she sits at the table. Sheldon runs off and grabs her some champagne, and when he comes back to the table she tells him.

"Sheldon, thank you. Thank you for everything," but there's tears in her eyes because next to her, Peyton is practically in Mac's lap.

Sheldon knows, he sits next to her, holds her hand, keeps her company for an hour, keeps her hidden from the people who want to interrogate her by making them think that their sharing some nonexistent romantic moment and don't want to be disturbed. At ten to midnight, Stella looks at him pleadingly and he smiles as best he can.

"There's nothing I can do, is there," and it isn't a question because he knows that he's right.

She shakes her head slowly, "Go home Sheldon, this isn't about you."

He doesn't take offense, just like she knew he wouldn't. But instead, he raises her hand to his lips, brushes her fingers gently in a chaste kiss and then gets up to leave.

"Do you want me to pick you up later?" he asks.

"It's alright, I'll take another taxi."

"Call me when you get home, okay?"

"Yes, I will."

He can't look at her anymore, the most dazzling woman in the room sitting quietly in a corner, coming apart at the seams every time Peyton presses a kiss to Mac's lips, to his face, to his neck.

Stella is beautiful.

Sheldon wants to die.

Instead he turns his back and walks past those _wolves _who are just about ready to jump on her and rip her to shreds (not like that hasn't already happened). He glares at them with a dark promise in his eyes and they turn back to their drinks, back into sheep. He's saved her tonight.

He wonders who'll save her tomorrow.

--

The song slows, and so does time for Peyton as she pushes herself flush against Mac. He holds her tighter in response, brushing his lips against her temple. Over Peyton's hair, Stella is still sitting at the table (on her seventh glass of champagne, but Mac doesn't know that) in that red dress, gracefully ignoring the perverse stares she keeps getting from the eager and stupid men, and politely refusing the dance invitation from those with more class.

He holds Peyton tighter, trying to convince himself of something, "Beautiful," he says.

"You're so sweet," Peyton replies.

Mac feels infinitely guilty, but he doesn't know whom this regret is meant for.

--

_Emerald green_, Stella thinks at the table as she watches them dance.

They're too far away for her to notice just who Mac keeps staring at.

_Emerald green,_ her laughter hurts her own throat, it's all she can do to keep from crying.

Green like the Emerald Isle from which her favourite blend of coffee originated. And though she first became aware of his absence at their coffee date (she'd waited fifteen minutes, and then left because he's never late) it only really sinks in now that she looked forward to that cup of Irish Cream all day, and it never came.

She tries to feel bad about it, the same way she tried to feel bad about Lindsay earlier on. In fact, when the song ends and Peyton looks up to kiss Mac_ again_, Stella tries to feel bad about everything and anything there is to feel bad about. And when that doesn't work, and she still only wants to cry because she's so in love with a man who's holding someone else, she tries to feel happy about the fact that this night is almost over and she can almost go home.

Then when there's _another_ song and she realizes that she'll have to wait a little longer, and watch them dance again (it's not really even dancing, it's more like swaying together in an excuse to be so close in public) Stella grabs another glass of champagne. Then another. Then another. Then...

--

"Stop here," she slurs to the cab driver at three in the morning.

She hands him a fifty and he doesn't ask questions when she shows no concern for the change. Although the convenience store ahead of her is a little blurry, she knows exactly where she is. She stumbles through the door and glares at the man at the counter when he arches an eyebrow.

He keeps a watchful eye on her as she stumbles through the store, lest she decide to swipe something from him. But she only has one thing on her mind, and she intends to pay for it with another fifty because she can't think clear enough to remember that she should _wait_ for the change.

She fumbles with a stack of Styrofoam cups, almost knocking them over before finally succeeding in grabbing one. She presses the button on the machine and the liquid comes pouring out, two parts hot water, one part flavoured gravel, but she doesn't care. The man at the cash is bewildered but glad when she slams a fifty onto the counter and walks out.

Then, outside of the cheap little convenience store a block away from the house, looking beautiful in her red dress and stilettos, Stella downs the entire cup of coffee (or whatever it is) and then sits down on a little block of cement and cries.

She doesn't notice she's burnt her tongue until the next morning.

--

"Rough night?" asks Flack the next day, and Stella doesn't reply, "By the way, Lindsay's looking for you."

Stella nods, but she doesn't really care, and that becomes her mantra for the day, _I don't care._

She zooms around the lab, a cheap skip in her step, singing, _I don't care_. Sid offers to take her out for coffee, and is confused when all she can do is laugh and think, _I don't_ _care_.

There's a pile of paperwork waiting for her at her desk, _I don't care_.

Lindsay wants to do something tonight, _I don't care._

Danny thinks something's wrong, _I don't care_.

Sheldon's heart breaks when he sees her snickering to herself like an idiot thinking, _I don't care._

Mac sees her in the afternoon, puts his hand on her shoulder and says, "You looked great last night."

Her mantra goes out the window, she cares more than anything about him and she can't change that no matter how badly she wants to.

--

A few weeks pass and Stella pretends that she's been feeling better. She still takes time out of her day every Monday morning to pick up coffee for her friends (even Sid whose acquired a taste for it as of late). All except Mac, who usually skips out on their usual morning meeting to grab a bite with Peyton. It doesn't bother her so much until she runs into him one night at O'Sullivans.

Stella sees Peyton and she wants to hate her so badly, she thinks that steam might come out of her ears. But try as she might, she can't hate Peyton, she _doesn't_ hate Peyton. In fact, they've become friends, (Stella's not surprised, they have so much in common, they're practically the same person). And even as she stands there holding Mac's hand, in one of those black cocktail dresses that Stella used to like so much, Peyton has no ill will. She's not a cruel person. There was no way for her to know... know about Stella and Mac (or lack there of) and that maybe, (Stella thinks) maybe if Peyton had just waited a little bit longer to appear in their lives, there would have been time enough for something _else_ to have happened between them. Maybe then Stella wouldn't feel like a third wheel in their company. Maybe it would be her next to Mac, in a black dress, his constant companion.

"Excuse me for a moment," says Peyton, and she scurries off (to fix her hair, Stella guesses).

"Why don't you sit," says Mac with a little smile.

"No thanks," Stella replies, _I wouldn't want to interrupt._

So he stands, because he's ever the gentlemen, and before she can think to escape, he's so close to her that she can hear his steady breathing. He doesn't seem to notice the close proximity, nor does he think it to be strange how she's staring at his lips, his neck, anything to avoid his eyes. Anything to keep her fantasies alive later on that night.

She looks away with sadness when her eyes come to the small, half-moon blemish next to his jugular. She should've guessed that they were that far along.

"Sid told me about that morning Stella, I wanted to apologize," says Mac all of a sudden.

"No worries," she'd heard about Peyton's accident by then.

And much to her surprise, it still hurt.

She feels guilty about that. Peyton could have been seriously injured, and there she is thinking only of herself and her forgotten presence, and the spilt coffee and Mac, brushing past her without a clue of her existence, without a clue about anything pertaining to her really.

A certain scent tickles her nose when he comes closer. _Irish cream_, a certain smile distorts her face and Mac is surprised when he looks at her.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

Then he makes the biggest mistake possible.

His hand grazes her cheek. There's contact. There's his touch, and Stella feels like she's been burned. Her reaction is much more dramatic than what she intended. Ever since he'd gotten together with Peyton, the touch of his hand made her flinch and feel ironically distanced from him. But this time, she actually jumps, a whimper peeling from her throat as she steps backwards quickly and turns away just in time to wipe a tear from her face.

"Stella..." his voice is different now.

She turns to leave and he catches her wrist, stops her, touches her _again_, "Look at me, Stella."

She stops. He knows, "Look at me."

Stella turns her head, almost shyly and cringes a little.

"Stella do you... is it..."

His sorry eyes and rueful grimace do nothing for her. Stella laughs, but it is a painful sound, and she's so beautiful that Mac wants to die.

"Stella please," he mutters quietly as they draw stares from the people at the next table.

"Oh Mac," she tries to stifle her laughter, her pain, "Mac, don't even try."

"I didn't mean for this to happen."

"For what to happen Mac? For what to happen?" she stares closely at him, studying his face, eager to hear his answer, eager to know what he's going to try to say now that he knows how much he has hurt her.

Peyton steps out of the washroom, completely oblivious to all that has transpired. Mac lets go of her wrist immediately, and Stella stands up straight and proud and says:

"Yeah. That's what I thought," then she's gone.

"Hey, where's she going?" asks Peyton, her smile fading a little.

"She's..." Mac stares, "She just... she needs some air."

"Oh," Peyton flops down on the chair and thinks nothing of the strange look on his face, "Well we should invite her here with us tomorrow."

Unbeknownst to the both of them, at the very moment, Stella Bonasera swore off Irish coffee forever.

--

Salty tears drip lazily into a darker liquid.

Stella, in the lounge, crying shamelessly into a Paradiso Dark that she picked up at ten o' clock p.m. just so she could sit in a place where she knew no one would be and try and find herself.

"Oh God," she takes another sip and sniffles loudly.

She feels her head starting to hurt, and she feels the coffee _not_ working. It's an extra dark roast, the kind that she only drinks when she's ready to give up on everything else so she can just sit and cry. It's the most acidic kind of coffee that they had, and therefore, it's exactly what she needs after the meeting with Mac leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. It's perfect for this dreary occasion.

And although it _is_ supposed to be harsh and repulsive, it is sweet on her tongue, the same way that normally sweet orange juice tastes sour if she drinks it after sucking on a lollipop. She only ever drinks Paradiso Dark after hours, when she can't take pretending to be sweet, intelligent Stella Bonasera. The ever-ready friend, and loving, maternal superior and _not_ the love interest of Mac Taylor. Of course.

--

Their embrace, three months later, sends Stella running out of the lab and into the rain, unnoticed by all, except for the one person she'd like most to fool. Mac chases her a block and a half, and he half-thinks that she knows that he's following her because she hasn't stopped running yet.

When she finally does stop, her lungs swearing at her because it's been awhile since she's gotten a good run into her morning workout, Mac places a hand on her shoulder, and then pulls her close, her back to him.

"Walk it off," he whispers to her, takes her hand, and they go.

He doesn't know how long they walk for, he doesn't know where they're going, and he doesn't care much because at least she didn't jerk away in pain when he touched her, at least he can still feel her hand in his.

But the more they walk, the more questions arise in his head, the more he wants her to look at him, talk to him, tell him everything (though he's not sure why, because that will cause more problems he's sure).

"Stella, please," he pleads with her again, and she lets go of his hand, crosses her arms and is no sooner a million miles away from him, "Don't do this."

She's walking away now, faster and faster in the direction of her apartment and he knows this because they've walked in circles around her apartment before (they don't do that much anymore though). He chases her again, like a homeless dog. By the time they reach her apartment and she's fumbling through her pocket for the key, he's tired.

He looks at her. Her soaked clothing clinging to her body like a wetsuit, ruined hair sticking to her cheeks. The sparkle in her eyes has faded, and suddenly, he can take no more.

Mac places a firm hand on her waist, spins her around, slams her against the brick wall and then grasps her wrists painfully, pinning her. Through the whole ordeal, she does not make a sound.

"Stella," he says, venom in his voice, "_Stella_."

She looks up at him, and then whimpers. She starts to cry, and suddenly it strikes him that maybe she's been crying this whole time and he hasn't noticed because of the rain (or because its taken him this long to finally look her in the eye).

Suddenly, he's crying too, because he has her in front of him, pinned to a wall, and he doesn't know what to do next, what to say, how to begin. This terrifies him for a moment, maybe this is just _it_, maybe there's _nothing_ he can do but let her go on feeling miserable. He lets go of her arms and they hang there. She does not move. His head droops slowly as she draws her hands to her chest and sobs louder.

He moves closer, wanting to touch her somehow, but unable to decide on which course to take. He settles his forearm against the wall above her brings his hand beside her waist, trapping her again. He tries:

"How did this happen?" he asks.

She shakes her head, "I don't know Mac. I don't know anything anymore..."

He hates to think that this is the end, he hates it so much that he tries to look for a light at the end of this tunnel. And then suddenly, it's clear to him, the light at the end of this tunnel is right in front of him, she's right in front of him, shining so brightly even in this heartbroken state, beckoning him. He brings one hand to her chin, lifts her face so she can see him, closes his eyes so she knows what's going on and then...

She looks away.

"This isn't right Mac," is what she says as she presses her hands against his chest, freeing herself, "You have Peyton."

"Stella, you have to know," he tries to keep her standing there, he's desperate, he thinks he's going to lose her forever if he doesn't tell her now, "We're leaving."

"Please Mac," Stella smiles a little again, "As if I didn't know. London right? You'll have a lovely-"

"She's not coming back, Stella," he doesn't want her to start that again.

"What?"

"I don't think she knows it herself yet Stella... but she won't come back."

There's silence, and she hates to think that he's just feeding her this in order to give her some kind of hope so that they can go on with their lives.

"A-are you coming back Mac?" she asks quietly, "Are you coming back here?"

"Of course I'll be back Stella," he takes her face in his hands again, not to kiss her, just to look at her and make sure that she looks at him, "I'll be here... so will you."

"W-we could go out for coffee then," she smiles a little, the gesture reaching her eyes for the first time since the morning when she spilled the coffee (and she realizes, there's no use crying over spilt _anything_).

"We could go out for dinner even."

"Watch it," she laughs at little, "You're still_ with_ Peyton."

"It's more of a de facto relationship than anything... she loves her home more than anything. I can't hate her for that and I can't ask her to stay either. She bought those tickets though, she wants me to go, to enjoy myself-"

"That's good. You should go."

"But I'll be back Stella."

"And I'll be here, I'll be waiting."

They walk hand-in-hand to here apartment, whereupon he kisses her cheek gently and bids her goodnight. Inside she fixes herself some Caramelo and it's sweet on her tongue but not quite as sweet as Mac, holding her in the rain, begging her, pleading with her, baring himself in front of her only hoping that she'll stay here and wait.

Stella sleeps soundly, the feel of his lips lingers on her face, a warm, enticing taste in her mouth.

He leaves in August, and returns a month later.

--

In September, Sid goes back to drinking tea, Lindsay and Danny continue their dangerous game and Sheldon Hawkes catches Stella and Mac on their way out of the lab, his arm around her waist.

"Hey," Sheldon smiles knowingly, "Is that... Stella and Mac?"

Sheldon walks away grinning to himself because he already knows the answer. He turns just in time to see their lips brush and he's never been so happy for anyone more than he's happy for them.

"Yes," she whispers against his lower lip , tastes the Irish coffee, and then says only to him, "Stella and Mac."

**fin.**

_July 2008._


End file.
